


In a Pickle

by orphan_account



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Vore, Endosoma, Endosomatophilia, Microphilia, Other, Soft Vore, Vore, gender ambiguous reader, genderneutral reader, micro reader, squick warning bc you go down with chewed-up food, unaware vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 20:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You're a tiny Habitician, and you get eaten by Randy. That's it.





	In a Pickle

The woes of being tiny never ceased.

Your time at the Habitat had been difficult enough as-is, what with all the strenuous tasks put upon you by your fellow Habiticians. Spy on a photographer, plant flowers, aim a pipe system, get proof of vampires, take a secret photo, win a teddy bear; all of this just within the span of a few days. Your size did not help in the slightest. Hopping, stretching, climbing, everything was an obstacle. It was difficult just to get people to notice you, even. Half of the time, they just didn’t see you, and you’d wind up having to practically scale them like a mountain to get their attention. Just the other day, another Habitician had revealed themselves; a sweater-wearing nervous wreck named Randy, who inexplicably spoke in a poetic dialect and really,  _ really  _ wanted to smell like pickles. Well, after having to drag the jar to and from the Carnival to have Gillis open it for you, it was finally ready to grant his wish. You finished pushing the container under the stairwell and began hopping to get Randy’s attention.

Randy was, unfortunately, focused on something else. Specifically, he was scowling at a poster nearby that read “HABIT LOVES YOU”. He seemed to have a personal vendetta toward Dr. Habit, and the display of affection was really irking him, apparently. You waved your arms high in the air, even going as far as to tug on his pant leg, but to no success. Growling, you decide to take to higher ground; specifically, the jar itself. You climb the slippery rim and tap loudly on the glass. This gets his attention. You see him start to turn around as you abruptly slip on the smooth, briny glass of the jar and plummet into the contents. Salt stings your eyes, and you squeeze them shut reflexively. You hold your breath as you feel around for the surface of the liquid. It’s far too crowded with pickles to navigate properly. You feel a disturbance as the jar is giddily hoisted from the ground, the voice of Randy crying out around you.

“HUZZAH!”, he shouts, “I have been blessed,  _ truly  _ blessed!” Well, at least now you had your ticket out of the rancid bottle. He was going to coat himself in it like cologne. He’d  _ have  _ to notice you tumbling out onto his head. You relax slightly, your air supply growing short. Freedom was just a swift pour away.

“But, oh, I mustn’t waste the precious cargo within! No, no!”

You just barely register what he says before you’re tightly clenched in his fist, which plunges into the jar and grabs a handful of dills, yourself included in the bundle. You’re in the middle, and considerably shorter than them, which unfortunately makes you well-hidden. You squint open your eyes, only to be greeted by approaching darkness: a mouth.  _ His  _ mouth. He greedily stuffs the fistful of pickles into his cheeks. The tight barrier of pickles around you is quickly demolished by his gnashing teeth, which you narrowly avoid out of reflex, positioning yourself on his tongue. He presses you to the roof of his mouth, savoring your brine-soaked figure. A blissful  _ “Mmm!”  _ rumbles around you. You shudder as he finishes sucking your clothing dry and begins to work you, and the remnants of the pickles, to the back of his throat. You scramble for something to hold onto, but everything is far too lubricated by saliva to grip. You slip feet first into his waiting gullet. You grimace as the rest of the food piles on top of you before he swallows, sending the mound of bolus down the narrow passage of his throat and toward his rumbling stomach.

You wriggle slightly as you go down, causing him to cough. “Oh-ho!” He wheezes, “Thou giveth me quite a tickle as you proceed!” You can feel him pat his chest affectionately. “And that is why I cherish thee so!” It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to the pickles, still blissfully unaware of having ingested his sole companion in the Habitat. The passage tightens briefly before depositing you into the dark, damp pit of his stomach. You wipe away the pickles in disgust before trying to get a better look around. You’re smart enough to move out of the way of the esophagus each time you hear him swallow, in an effort to avoid being pummeled any further with his snacks. After several, he seems to have finished off the jar, finally dumping the fluid over himself to achieve the scent he desired. He’s certainly happier than you are right now; having gained the smell he longed for, and with a satiated belly, he made his way up the stairs to his room. “I only wish I could meet my mysterious savior…” he muses. If only he knew.

You’re fairly certain he’s asleep when you finally manage to take a proper look at your surroundings. Likely napping off his meal, you suppose. You’re definitely not looking forward to being digested. On the plus side, it’s  _ slightly  _ roomier than you’d expected a stomach to be, especially one loaded with food. There’s all sorts of interesting noises being produced as the broken-up pickles settle into his digestive juices. You can’t  _ stand  _ the briny smell coating both you and your fleshy prison, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You’ve shifted your focus to staying in the drier sections of his belly, away from the accumulating bile. The walls are soft and rubbery, easily giving under your weight. It’s just as sensitive as you’d imagined his stomach to be, shriveling and flinching at the slightest touch. You tap on the lining, trying your best to get some sort of response out of him. Hopefully, he’d take notice of a small pair of hands thumping inside of his stomach. It seemed like your plan paid off; you felt him sit up in his bed and stretch his arms in a yawn. Finally, time for him to let you out.

“Oh, my sweet friends.” He sighs, a dreamy glee to his voice. “I certainly hope thou art making thyselves at home.” He gives his stomach a loving pat as he settles back down. “Truly, we were meant to be together.” This wasn’t sounding promising at all. “And inside of me, you’ll stay. Where you belong.” You shake your head frantically and increase your thrusting against the wall, desperately trying to alert him to your presence. He pipes up once more.

“Ah, my miniature accomplice!” He coos, poking at his abdomen in a playful fashion. “Thank you so much for uniting me with my beloved pickles! Rest assured, your efforts shall not go unrewarded, no!” He  _ knows  _ you’re in here? Then why isn’t he coughing you up already? You’re certainly not food, and you would assume that was pretty apparent to any rational person. Then again, a man who wanted to smell like pickles wasn’t exactly the textbook definition of rational. Your angry thoughts are interrupted by his voice. “You get to be a part of our magnificent union! Witnessing the ordeal from the inside is quite the lucky view, no?” His stomach burbles happily at your presence.

It hits you that you’re not leaving anytime soon.

“And you, too, shall accompany me throughout my stay here at the Habitat, ho ho!” He kicks his feet giddily to punctuate his excitement. “Safe and sound in the gentle confines of my body. That wicked Dr. Habit shall never find you here, no!” You blush at his statement, though still irritated at his decision to keep you captive. “I shall do my best to repay your valiant deed by preserving you as much as I can!” He pulls his sweater down over his tummy and lays back down. “Perhaps, if I’m lucky, you’ll wish to extend your stay, hmm?” Oh, absolutely not. You weren’t going to accept being  _ eaten,  _ for god's sake. Who does he think he is, just keeping you inside his-

...his admittedly warm and decently comfortable stomach?

Surely the smell would wash out after a few swigs of water, so it’s not like that was permanent. Other than that, it wasn’t nearly as unpleasant or hazardous as you’d dreaded. Plus, thinking about it, he probably looked  _ really  _ cute right now, cuddled up in bed and rubbing his full tummy. You let out a resigned sigh and give the wall a pat, as an indication of “I’ll keep you posted.” He hums with delight at your response and makes himself comfortable. “Oh, how lucky I am.” He smiles. “I do hope you enjoy this as much as I do.” 

Deep down, you really do.

Getting comfortable, you recline against the soft stomach lining and shut your eyes. A nap certainly wasn’t a bad idea, and you were more than willing to join him.


End file.
